


Don't Tell me You're Fine (Oh Honey, You Don't Have to Lie)

by accordingtomel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my god, are you <i>sick</i>? I should have known.”</p>
<p>Dylan drops his duffel bag on the floor by the door of their bedroom and cuts across the room to where Hoechlin’s struggling to push back the covers on the bed. He looks like he’s literally just woken up from yet another nap.</p>
<p>“No, I’m not sick,” he says -- <i>insists</i>, even though he’s almost always wrong -- just barely managing to kick the sheets away as he sits up on the edge of the bed. “I was just... really tired.”</p>
<p>Dylan smirks, raising both of his eyebrows as he fully takes in the sight of Hoechlin. </p>
<p>“Of course not. You look perfectly healthy,” he says, holding back a snort at Hoechlin’s frown.</p>
<p>It’s kind of adorably pathetic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Tell me You're Fine (Oh Honey, You Don't Have to Lie)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ Hobrien Week 2015](http://eternalhobrien.tumblr.com/post/125043639813/welcome-to-hobrien-week-2015-this-week-was)
> 
> This is literally pure, self-indulgent fluff. I'm not even sorry. This is what Hobrien does to me. Huge thanks to iamderekhale for doing a super last minute beta for me! Any remaining mistakes are my own. The title comes directly from Fall Out Boy's song "Fourth of July."

In hindsight, it makes perfect sense. But in the moment, Dylan isn’t quite sure what to make of the text sitting on his phone. Especially after his 6 hour flight home.

**From: Hoech [3:27 pm]**  
_D, i’m so sorry, i fell asleep and didn’t hear my alarm. i’m on my way to come get you now._

Dylan checks the time again. The text was sent about five minutes ago. Which means that Hoechlin probably hasn’t had time to get up and out of the house yet. By the time he drives down to the airport and they drive home it’ll be well over an hour from now, probably closer to two, and all he wants to do is get home. He pulls up the text conversation again and quickly types out a response.

From: Dylan [3:34 pm]  
_Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take a cab home._

By the time Dylan has managed to locate his duffle bag and hail a cab -- without being noticed by any fans this time around; thank god for small miracles -- he sees that he has another text from Hoechlin.

**From: Hoech [3:49 pm]**  
_sorry :(. i so wanted to pick you up. can’t wait to see you though._

Dylan smiles down at his phone and shoots back a quick reply before drifting off for a brief, unexpected nap of his own.

It isn’t until he walks through the front door and the only greeting he receives is from Wolverine, the grey and white tabby cat he and Hoechlin adopted last year, that Dylan starts to worry that maybe something actually happened to Hoechlin. Usually he’d already have an armful of boyfriend.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” Dylan calls out, reaching down to scratch Wolverine behind the ears. He purrs loudly, rubbing his body against Dylan’s legs contentedly.

The silence that answers him is more than a little disconcerting, so Dylan hoists his bag on his shoulder and makes his way through the house in search for Hoechlin. Everything finally clicks into place when he hears coughing coming from their bedroom at the end of the hall. He follows the sound straight to Hoechlin, who’s lying there, curled up under the bed covers. In the middle of the day.

“Oh my god, are you _sick_? I should have known.”

Dylan drops his duffel bag on the floor by the door of their bedroom and cuts across the room to where Hoechlin’s struggling to push back the covers on the bed. He looks like he’s literally just woken up from yet another nap.

“No, I’m not sick,” he says -- _insists_ , even though he’s almost always wrong -- just barely managing to kick the sheets away as he sits up on the edge of the bed. “I was just... really tired.”

Dylan smirks, raising both of his eyebrows as he fully takes in the sight of Hoechlin. He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts (both items belonging to Dylan, he can’t help but notice) that look like they haven’t been washed in days, and his nose is a lovely shade of red. Hoechlin’s normally well groomed beard is just this side of unkempt, and there’s a light sheen of sweat across his paler-than-usual forehead. A box of tissues sits on the night stand, surrounded by several used ones that didn’t quite make it into the trash. There’s also a bottle of chewable vitamin C, a coffee mug, and a half full glass of water. Dylan scrunches his nose at the sight.

“Of course not. You look perfectly healthy,” he says, holding back a snort at Hoechlin’s frown.

It’s kind of adorably pathetic. 

Dylan moves closer, and Hoechlin opens up for him instinctively. Dylan steps easily into the space between Hoechlin’s legs and allows himself to be pulled into a warm embrace. It’s been a long three weeks.

“I missed you so much, Hoech,” Dylan admits, pressing his face into the top of Hoechlin’s head. 

They’ve been doing this for years -- traveling all over the world for conventions or movies or press circuits -- but despite what he’d originally hoped, Dylan’s never gotten used to being away from Hoechlin for more than a few days at a time.

“Me too.” Hoechlin’s arms squeeze tighter around him and Dylan feels a sense of contentment and peace settle over him in a way that he never feels when he’s away from home.

Instinctively, Dylan pulls back, cupping Hoechlin’s face, and leans in to kiss him hello.

But instead of meeting him halfway, Hoechlin pushes on Dylan’s chest and turns his face to the side. “Don’t kiss me, I’m sick.”

“I thought you just said you weren’t?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to risk it, just in case I am.”

“Mmm hmm, okay,” Dylan says, turning Hoechlin’s face back to him anyway. “Come here, you dummy, I haven’t seen you in ages. I’ll take the risk.”

Dylan smiles down at Hoechlin, stroking his thumbs across the scratchy hair on his jawline, and leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to Hoechlin’s lips. Hoechlin’s hands come up to grip his waist and he opens his mouth to Dylan, immediately deepening the kiss. After a moment, Dylan’s senses return to him and he reluctantly pulls back.

“No, come back,” Hoechlin whines -- actually fucking whines -- and tries to pull him closer again.

But Dylan holds his ground, biting back a laugh as he narrows his eyes. “What happened to being worried about my health?”

“I lied. I’m totally fine.”

And as if to prove how ‘fine’ he is, that’s exactly the moment when he bursts into a simultaneous coughing and sneezing fit. Dylan manages to resist making a comment about karma. Barely. 

(After all, Dylan’s all but sealed his own fate anyway. There’s no point in biting the hand that will probably be feeding him in a few days, when he catches whatever flu it is that Hoechlin has.)

At least Hoechlin’s been brushing his teeth. The same can’t be said for other regular hygiene activities, however.

“When’s the last time you showered?” Dylan asks, finally moving away and heading for the night stand. He grabs a few tissues and hands them to Hoechlin..

Hoechlin tilts his head thoughtfully like he’s an honest-to-god puppy; it’s ridiculously cute, Dylan can’t deny that. “I don’t know?” he says finally. “A couple days ago maybe?” And then he sneezes.

Dylan laughs and gently shoves Hoechlin towards the bathroom..“Oh my god, go shower. You’re super gross.”

Hoechlin pouts, but Dylan glares at him until he rolls off the bed with a dramatic groan and lumbers slowly around the room, gathering clean clothes and a towel.

As soon as Hoechlin’s out of bed, Dylan gets to work. He’s exhausted from the gruelling filming schedule for his last movie, as well as from the long flight home. But Hoechlin is sick, so that takes priority over anything else. 

First, Dylan strips the bed and puts on a new set of sheets, because the other ones are starting to smell. In fairness, though, Hoechlin probably couldn’t tell, nor would he care when he was home alone. Then he tosses all the used tissues into the trash and gets a new box. Dylan picks up the glass and the coffee mug, taking them to the kitchen. The mug is light blue, with the words “World’s Best Daddies” written on it. Dylan had bought a matching set as a prank to scare his parents after he and Hoechlin had adopted Wolverine last summer. He still laughs every time he sees it. Finally, he shoots off a quick text to his mom requesting her chicken soup recipe, then puts the kettle on to make the tea that Hoechlin only drinks when he’s sick.

Dylan’s halfway through hunting down the ingredients for the soup when Hoechlin appears in the kitchen wearing a clean pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. He still looks like shit, but at least he’s clean now. Plus, the damp scraggly mess of hair on the top of his head is the cutest thing Dylan’s ever seen and he feels a wave of affection rush over him in that moment.

“What are you doing?” Hoechlin asks, taking a seat at the table.

“Just seeing what we have for groceries.”

“Sorry, there’s not much. I haven’t had the chance to get anything lately.”

“How dare you not go out and get groceries when you’re sick, Hoech. Honestly,” Dylan says with a smile, shutting the fridge door and walking over to the stove. “Speaking of, you should be resting. Take your tea and go back to bed.”

Dylan grabs the mug and places it in Hoechlin’s hands. He pulls a couple reusable grocery bags out of the cupboard and pockets his wallet, pressing a kiss to Hoechlin’s temple as he heads for the door.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Just gonna go pick up a few things. Drink your tea and go lie down,” Dylan tells him, scooting out the door before he can see if Hoechlin actually listens.

~*~

Dylan's not exactly a master chef, but he'd wager good money that his cooking skills are probably better than average. Everyone always assumes that Hoechlin does most of the cooking -- though Dylan has absolutely no idea why; being good with the barbeque has nothing to do with possessing legitimate culinary skills -- but it's actually him. He always loved being in the kitchen with his parents when he was younger, helping with the meals and the baking.

Which is a set of skills that comes in handy now, as Dylan attempts to make his mother's homemade chicken noodle soup. It’s not too complicated, but it’s been awhile since he’s actually made anything from scratch. Surprisingly, however, it actually turns out better than he was expecting -- albeit a little spicier than he'd normally make it. But Hoechlin could use a good sinus clearing anyway, so he doesn't worry about it.

When Dylan walks into the bedroom carrying a serving tray with the soup, he's met with the sight of a sleeping, lightly snoring Hoechlin. It's doubly adorable when he notices Wolverine is sleeping in a tiny ball on top of his feet. Dylan places the tray on top of the dresser and sits down beside Hoechlin at the edge of the bed.

"Hey babe, it's time to wake up and have something to eat," Dylan says, reaching over to card his fingers through Hoechlin's hair.

It takes him a moment, but then he's blinking his eyes at Dylan, staring up at him like he's surprised to see Dylan there.

"You _are_ home," he says, a touch of awe in his voice. "I thought I'd just dreamed you."

Dylan snorts, then pats Hoechlin's cheek fondly. "You're absolutely ridiculous, and clearly sicker than you think. Of course I'm here. But I'm going to remember that you said that and use it against you one day, just so you know."

Hoechlin smiles like he's pleased, and then he sneezes twice in rapid succession. Dylan barely manages to duck out of the way of the blast, even though he knows at this point it’s way too late to avoid the germs anyway. He hands Hoechlin the box of tissues and then gets up to retrieve the serving tray with their soup.

“You made soup for me?” Hoechlin asks as Dylan puts the serving tray down in the middle of the bed.

He gingerly climbs onto the other side of the bed and waits until Hoechlin’s properly settled before handing one of the bowls of soup to him.

“You’re the best. How did I ever get so lucky?” Hoechlin grins broadly at him and Dylan feels his cheeks warm in pleasure.

The feeling is certainly mutual.

While they eat, Dylan talks about his movie and Hoechlin tells him about an audition he had last week. Hoechlin’s always so proud of Dylan when he gets a new role, but sometimes Dylan thinks that he doesn’t understand just how proud Dylan is of him too. 

When they’re finished eating, Dylan takes the bowls to the kitchen and throws them into the dishwasher. While he’s there, he makes Hoechlin another cup of tea, and puts fresh food and water into Wolverine’s bowls.

Hoechlin looks about ready to pass out again when Dylan hands him the tea, but he waves off Dylan’s concerns.

“You just got home. I haven’t seen you in weeks. I’ve missed you and I want to spend time with you.”

“All right, I get it. I just don’t want to wear you down too much.”

“You won’t. I’m not even really that sick.”

Dylan snorts, raising both of his eyebrows at Hoechlin’s general, and _obvious_ , sickness. “Ha, okay. Whatever you say there, Hoechles.”

“Damn straight,” Hoechlin says with a smirk, and Dylan rolls his eyes. While Hoechlin drinks his tea (and pretends that’s the real reason his nose is running and he keeps sneezing), Dylan changes into his pajamas and then goes to grab some cold and flu medicine for him.

By the time Dylan actually climbs into bed and they pull Netflix up on the TV, Hoechlin looks like he really _is_ going to fall asleep any minute this time. But he knows better than to argue. So instead, Dylan settles back against the mattress and waits for Hoechlin to curl around him. 

Hoechlin is usually cuddly and touchy-feely on the best of days, but when he’s sick or injured or upset about something, that cuddly nature goes into overdrive. Not that Dylan particularly minds, though, as they have a very physically affectionate relationship to begin with. So it doesn’t come as a surprise when Hoechlin settles his head on Dylan’s chest, wrapping both his arms and legs around Dylan like an octopus.

Of course, his combined sickness and desire to be physically close to Dylan don’t stop Hoechlin from being the respectful and sensitive person he still is. 

“Is this okay, D?”

Dylan smiles, squeezing him tight for a moment. “Of course it is.”

They pull up season 1 of Arrested Development and start watching. Hoechlin makes it through about one and a half episodes before the chatting, quoting and laughter dies down, and it falls silent in the room save for the Bluth family being ridiculous on screen. Dylan watches one more full episode before he feels confident that Hoechlin’s all but asleep. Carefully, he turns off the TV and puts the remote down on the bedside table. But just as he’s about to turn off the bedside lamp, he hears Hoechlin’s voice, mumbled and soft, but still clear enough to understand.

“I love you, D.”

And while Dylan knows in the morning he’s probably going to wake up with drool and mucus and who knows what else all over him, it doesn’t stop a wave of affection from washing over him anyway. Sickness or not, he’s missed this -- missed _Hoechlin_ and home and his family -- so much.

Dylan presses a gentle kiss to Hoechlin’s head as his breathing starts to even out. “I love you too, Hoech.”

In all honesty, there’s no place he’d rather be.


End file.
